


Freelance Good Guys: The Hoardmaster

by TheGreys (alienjpeg)



Series: Looming Gaia [33]
Category: Looming Gaia
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Gore, Dragons, Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantasy, Friendship, Gay Sex, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Prostitution, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienjpeg/pseuds/TheGreys
Summary: A group of refugees is struggling to get back on their feet after losing everything they knew. Times are hard in this foreign city of Woodborne, especially in the dead of winter. Hope is fading fast, and all they can do is pray for a miracle.
Series: Looming Gaia [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/833844
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	1. Desperate and Destitute

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Looming Gaia series. It won't make much sense unless you read the previous stories first.
> 
> You can find concept art, discussions, dumb memes and more at: http://www.loominggaia.tumblr.com

**[CHAPTER 1: DESPERATE AND DESTITUTE]**

_LATE AUTUMN, 6007_

Woodborne saw its first snow of the year during the night. Lukas awoke in his grungy little inn room overlooking the slums, and he immediately noticed ice piled up in the window frame. Taking a deep breath, he gnashed his teeth and braced himself for the pain when he sat upright in his bed.

The walls were thin and this inn’s heating system was _flawed_ , to say the least. Lukas stood up and shuffled his way to the closet, pulling on a wool toque and Evan’s oversized jacket. The jacket smelled of wet dog like everything else of Evan’s, but it was lined with rabbit fur and too warm to resist.

Lukas braced himself on the back of a chair. His head was spinning. His face burned with fever while his body rattled with chills. Mr. Ocean had mended his bones, but he could do nothing for the infection raging through his blood. With no money and no Folkvaran citizenship, the Woodborne hospital would only hold him so long. Lukas was released back into the slums several weeks ago, and only by the sweat of his crew’s brows was he sleeping under a real roof.

The Freelance Good Guys’ headquarters was lost to the rage of Mankind’s Disgrace. There was nothing to return to, so they decided to stay in Woodborne for the time being and operate their services out the local taverns. It was just like the good old days, they thought. Then they promptly realized those days weren’t as rosy as their nostalgia made them out to be.

The mercenaries loitered around taverns from high sun to midnight, for they knew troubled people had a tendency to flock to alcohol. The Freelance Good Guys could make their troubles disappear…for a price, of course. Larger, more lucrative contracts were still filling up their box at the Woodborne post office. But the crew had lost most of their armor, weapons, and equipment in Disgrace’s flames, and Evan was wary about sending them into such danger unprepared.

For the time being, they were back to simple work like finding lost trinkets, hunting nuisance wildlife, and arresting petty thieves. All except Lukas, still down and out with fever, relying completely on the hard work and generosity of his friends. Though he was grateful, he decided he’d rather be trudging through sewers or slaying beasts than spend one more night watching spiders skitter across the ceiling.

He missed his outpost. He missed the compound, the village, and the friends they had lost. The crew had been debating for weeks, but still hadn’t reached an agreement on what to do next. Should they stay in Woodborne and reestablish themselves in the city, or return to the Hollow and rebuild their compound? Both options had their benefits and drawbacks. Just thinking about it made Lukas’ head spin faster.

He heard voices escalating outside his door. Lukas braced himself on the wall as he made his way over. Pressing his ear to the wood, he heard a stranger’s voice bellow, “…Back to the forest where you belong, or I’ll drag you there myself!”

The distinctive voice of Dr. Che replied, “I tell you, I am doctor! You must move, my patient needs me or he will meet the death!”

“’Doctor’, my arse! I saw you skulkin’ around my door, you little thief!” the strange man growled, then Lukas heard a heavy thump and a yelp. He threw the door open and saw two figures in the hallway. A hulking troll had Dr. Che pinned to the wall by his neck. Dr. Che’s gaze flashed towards Lukas, his cracked spectacles sitting askew on his face.

“Hey!” shouted Lukas, though his voice came out weak and strained. “That man’s a doctor, leave him alone!”

The troll turned to him, leathery brow wrinkled with doubt. “A doctor? _This_ goat-fucker?” he rumbled. Dr. Che squirmed in his grip, gasping for air.

Lukas stepped forward. He tried to point a threatening finger at the troll, but wobbled and just ended up using it to brace himself on the doorway. He croaked, “Look at me. I’m real sick, mister. Let him go so he can help me. I have nothing to gain by lying to you.”

The troll hesitated, yellow eyes shifting between the two. Finally, he dropped the satyr and turned back to his own room across the hall. “Doctor…yeah, right…probably sellin’ drugs…” he muttered, then disappeared through the door.

Dr. Che adjusted his glasses and picked his bag up off the floor. “Thank you, Mr. Lukas,” he rasped, rubbing at his bruised neck. “I thought I would meet the death! He is a crazy man!”

“The city’s full of ‘em,” said Lukas, closing the door behind him.

Dr. Che took his arm and helped him back into bed. The troll’s suspicions weren’t entirely unfounded, given that his white coat was smeared with dirt, his glasses were broken, and his long hair was clearly in need of a wash. He looked less like a doctor and more like a vagrant since he’d been living on the streets. Still, he faithfully tended the refugees from Drifter’s Hollow daily, whether they could pay him for it or not. He started each day with the most critical patients. These days, Lukas was first in line.

Lukas lay on his back, trying to stop the tremors in his limbs as Dr. Che rifled through his bag. The satyr laid out his supplies on the side table. They were mostly things he and Tojum had gathered from the surrounding forest—grasses, herbs, and tools they carved from sticks. Dr. Che had fashioned various ingredients into salves and tinctures, which he stored in discarded liquor bottles. He was the most resourceful person Lukas had ever met, for better or worse.

The satyr carefully unbuttoned Lukas’ pajama shirt, exposing a gauze wrap around his waist. There he had been impaled by a tree branch during his battle with Disgrace. As Dr. Che removed the wrap, Lukas said, “I have a question that I want you to answer honestly. And don’t worry about hurting my feelings; I don’t have any. If Evan wasn’t paying you, would you still be doing this for me?”

Dr. Che briefly glanced at his face. “Of course,” he replied. He had removed the old gauze, now gently applying herbal salve to the wound with a cotton ball.

Lukas gnashed his teeth at the sharp pain and grunted, “Why? Why do you— _ow_! Why do you work for nothing? Sounds like a bad business model to me.”

Dr. Che let out a thoughtful hum, as if carefully considering his next words. Then he replied, “It is a long story to tell.”

“I want to hear it. Gods know I have time,” sighed Lukas.

Dr. Che smiled. “Very well. I start the story from beginning,” he began, still dabbing the edges of the mercenaries’ great wound. “My mother was old and sick when she was pregnant with me. She go to faun village in Southriver Wood for help, but they could not help her. She met the death at my birth.”

He tossed the bloodied cotton ball away and picked up a new one, slathering it with salve as he continued, “But the faun people cared for me. I was very happy boy! My faun-mother tell me I was different. She tell me I come from a satyr woman, but I did not believe her. She was more mother to me than my satyr-mother.”

His fond smile faded. He took a deep breath through his nostrils. “Well…one day, she get very, very sick. My father try to care for her, but he get sick. My friends get sick. The chief get sick. Soon, everyone in my village is sick! Only I am not sick, and then I understand what my faun-mother say. I see I am different. I see the sickness take the faun people, but it not take me.”

Lukas groaned when he pressed too hard on his wound. Dr. Che quickly apologized and continued his tale, “Soon, there is no one healthy to care for the sick. They start to die, so the chief say to me, ‘Che, you must go east for one day and one night. Find the medicine man and bring him to us.’ So I run very fast and go very far into this place I never see before, and I see goblin people I never see before. I find the medicine man and tell him my village is sick. Everyone with fever, red spots all over. He say he will come to help…”

The lines in Che’s face deepened. Even his broken spectacles could not hide the grief in his eyes. “…But when we return, we find only death. The medicine man tell me I am too young to stay alone. He take me back to his village and say I will be his student. He teach me everything about medicine. I study and study, because I did not want the sickness to take my family again. I wanted everyone to be healthy. That is why I help you, even when there is no gold. I do not want the sickness to take you, my friend.”

Lukas fell silent for a moment, at a loss for words as Dr. Che wrapped his wound with clean gauze. He was truly touched to the depths of his heart. But Lukas, being Lukas, would die before he admitted it. Instead, he asked, “So, how did you end up in a podunk town like Drifter’s Hollow? Sounds like you got a decent education. You could go work at the Woodborne hospital, make a real living instead of slopping around in the gutter with the rest of us.”

“Ah, they will not take me,” the doctor told him. “When the medicine man met the death, I decide to leave the village. I do this because a travelling merchant say the Folkvar people need doctors. I follow the merchant north and north, very, very far to Folkvar Capital City. But the Folkvar people tell me I am not good enough, I must go to Folkvaran medicine school to be doctor.” He shrugged. “So, I try to make gold to go to school. But the Folkvar people, they do not like my kind. Everywhere I ask for work, they say I am a thief, that I will hurt their daughters, all these terrible lies. They say ‘go back to the forest, you are an animal!’”

Lukas cringed. As he packed up his supplies, Dr. Che finished, “I cannot find work, so I go back to the forest. I met Mr. Brogan and Mrs. Fallbrooke first time on the south road. They had been robbed by scary people. Brogan was hurt very bad. I fix his wounds, then Mrs. Fallbrooke tell me to come to Drifter’s Hollow. I go, and I stay. Well…until the fire. Now I am here. That is the end of my story for now.”

“I see,” muttered Lukas. The stabbing pain in his abdomen had calmed to a dull ache. His heart was heavy with sorrow for the old satyr. For as long as he’d been reaping Dr. Che’s services, he never knew his story until now. He had never bothered to ask.

“Thank you for sharing that with me. And uh, for everything else. I appreciate it,” he said, gesturing to his wound.

Dr. Che closed his bag and tipped his head in a shallow bow. “It makes me happy to help. I cannot do the magic like Mr. Ocean, but he cannot do the medicine like me. Between the two of us, I think you will not meet the death. But you must drink much water and rest, is very important!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“And you must eat all colors of food. Meat and vegetable both. Someone is feeding you, yes?”

“The crew’s been dropping off scraps, but Evan promised me a real dinner this evening. He better be good on his word. There’s only so much gruel and _brodfesk_ a man can stomach…” Lukas shuddered.

“Then it seems I am done here. I will see you tomorrow, Mr. Fanaka,” said Dr. Che, pulling the blanket over him. There was a wooden keg on the counter. The satyr used it to fill a cup with water and set it on Lukas’ side table before he left.

Lukas felt a sudden emptiness in his chest the moment the door closed behind him. He always considered himself a loner, but these last few weeks had been a gauntlet in isolation. Evan couldn’t return soon enough.

*

Deep in the slums of Woodborne was a long, crooked alleyway packed with makeshift shelters. The refugees from Drifter’s Hollow had been calling this alley home since the fall of their village. It was only meant to be a temporary setup, just a place to safely convene until everyone found work and got back on their feet.

This was proving particularly difficult for Balthazaar, who had scarcely been on his feet since they arrived. He spent most of his time belly-up with a drink in his hand or face-down in his own vomit. This evening was no different. Evan found him in his drafty shelter of scavenged boards and metal sheets, right where he expected him to be. The man was weeping quietly with an amber bottle in his hand. Over a dozen similar bottles littered the floor around him.

Peeking through his doorway, Evan cleared his throat and greeted, “Mr. Valentino, how are you feeling today?”

“How d’ya think?” Balthazaar snapped. He knocked back the last of his bottle, then pitched it against the dirt floor. It hit another bottle and both shattered on impact.

Evan stepped in and kneeled beside him. Though still quite a large man, Balthazaar had lost a great deal of weight since they arrived. His usually smooth head was overgrown with short, graying hair, exposing his pattern of baldness. His curly beard extended nearly to his belly, his clothes torn and filthy, and he smelled worse than most livestock. He was looking worse by the day, and Evan simply couldn’t take it anymore.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain, my friend,” Evan began, clamping a hand on his shoulder, “but I can’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself like this. This has gone on for long enough.”

Balthazaar shrugged his hand away and wailed, “You’re damn right it has! You don’t know how it feels, Captain! Every day hurts more than the last! I keep prayin’ for the gods to take me, but this cheap swill couldn’t poison a rat!” His words fell apart, lost in his sobs.

Evan sighed, “You’re just drunk. You don’t mean that.”

“Says you! Look at my face! Do I look like I’m kidding?” blubbered Balthazaar, gesturing to his dirty, puffy face. His cheeks glistened with tears. “I lost _everything_ , Atlas! My home is gone! My wife is dead! What do I have to live for now, huh? Everything I ever did was to make that woman happy, and I couldn’t even do that right!”

“That’s not—” Evan began, but was promptly interrupted.

Balthazaar smashed another bottle and cried, “I was a lousy husband! She would’a been better off marryin’ some peasant scum back in Duali! I promised I’d love and protect her, but where was I when she was getting ripped apart by that monster?”

Evan opened his mouth to speak, but the man bellowed over him, “Piss-drunk at the tavern with my pecker in some wench, that’s where! I took Feredil for granted! I took it all for granted and now it’s gone! Everything I love is dead and gone, so I might as well die with it!”

“Balthazaar, that’s enough!” Evan broke in quickly, bracing his hands firmly on the man’s shoulders, “So, you’ve bumbled your way through life and left a mess behind you. Are you really going to check out and dodge responsibility for it? Or will you be a man and right your wrongs? Perhaps you made mistakes, but you can _learn_ from them, my friend!” He gave Balthazaar’s shoulders a shake for emphasis. “Don’t give up! Use your past to be a better man! Be the man Feredil deserved!”

With a sour shake of his head, Balthazaar argued, “It’s a little late for that. What’s it matter now? She’s cold in the ground, but she wouldn’t be if I had just been that man in the first place! I’m not worth a shit, Atlas. I’m not even worth another minute of your time. Go away and let me die. It’s what I deserve.”

A silence fell between them, as cold as the autumn chill. Refugees murmured outside and stray dogs barked in the distance. Finally, Evan said, “You’ll never see justice if you’re dead, you know.”

Balthazaar picked his gaze up from the floor and quirked his bushy brow at the captain. “What are you saying?” he asked.

Evan told him, “If you take your own life, you’ll never see Isaac ram that scythe through Disgrace’s throat. It’ll serve him right, don’t you think? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Evan extended his hand. “So, what do you say? Will you have our backs when the day comes?”

Balthazaar blinked his bleary eyes, staring down at Evan’s hand. His pickled brain mulled the idea over for a moment. At last, he made his decision and accepted Evan’s hand in a solid shake. “That’s a damn fine point,” he said. “You know what? You’re right. I can’t go down yet—not until that evil bastard pays for what he did! I’ve got your back, Captain! I’ll be there, you can bet your last coin on it!”

Evan smiled wide, exposing the unsightly gaps in his gums. Disgrace had taken everything from his village to the teeth in his mouth. “Glad to hear it, friend! He won’t get away with this, not if we all work together. Everyone in the crew is craving a piece of that monster. It’s only a matter of time before we take him down.”

He stood up with a grunt, pulling Balthazaar up with him. Balthazaar wobbled a little and threw an arm around the captain’s shoulder for support. “Come on,” said Evan, “let’s get something in your stomach to help you sober up.”

“But wait, wait!” slurred Balthazaar. “I can’t afford no food. I spent all my money on booze.”

Evan shrugged and told him, “Don’t worry about it. Just pay me back when you can. I trust you’ll be fit to take on some work tomorrow, right?”

After a loud belch, Balthazaar replied, “Oh, I’ll be ready to go! No more beggin’ like a dog. I’ll be at the tavern bright ‘n early tomorrow morning. Promise.”

“That’s the spirit,” praised Evan, patting him on the back as they left the alley. Perhaps he patted a bit too hard, for Balthazaar stooped over and retched on his boots.

The two made their way out of the slums and into the city proper. Balthazaar dramatically cycled through several drunken emotions along the way, until finally, they arrived at the busiest watering hole in Woodborne. This tavern was stuffed with blue collar townsfolk and Folkvaran soldiers, as well as the barmaids, dancers, and wenches who served them. The old building stood three stories tall, built of sturdy oak logs and heavy chunks of cobblestone. With its old, weather-worn exterior, it likely predated most of the city.

“Remember, we’re not here for drinks,” Evan reminded Balthazaar as they stepped inside. The moment they opened the door, they were greeted by the pungent stench of alcohol, sweat, and cigar smoke. They heard lively music from the stage opposite of the bar, where a live band beat their drums and bowed their strings. Every table was packed with patrons. They laughed and roared and clapped along to the music, some throwing coins at half-naked wenches dancing on the tabletops.

This place was not only a fruitful source of work, but a source of cheap, hearty food as well. Everything served over the bar was rich in sugar, grease, and fat. What the crew once considered “junk food” was now a luxury after weeks of living on roasted rat and stale bread from the bakery dumpster.

Evan and Balthazaar pushed their way up to the bar. Balthazaar pounded his fist on the counter and called, “Hey, barkeep! One whale steak special over here, and don’t be stingy with the pickles!”

Evan nudged him and hissed, “’I’m buying’ doesn’t mean ‘get the most expensive thing on the menu’!” Then he called to the barkeep, “Nevermind that, sir! Make that two greenplates with mutton, please!”

The barkeeper scribbled their order on a slip of paper and passed it through a slot to the kitchen. Evan and Balthazaar leaned on the counter as they waited, making small talk with the patrons around them. Evan took the opportunity to pitch their mercenary service to the man beside him.

“…We’re a team of many talents, sir. We can track down that horse thief for you, no problem. As long as you have—” He stopped mid-sentence when something—or rather, someone—caught his eye from across the room. His jaw dropped.

The patron waved a hand in front of Evan’s face. “You okay there, pal?” he queried.

“Uh, yes,” replied Evan, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, I have to take care of something. Excuse me.”

Evan shoved his way through patrons as he stormed towards a table at the back of the room. A half-naked wench was dancing on top of it while several men cheered around her. But she wasn’t just any wench, she was Evan’s third-in-command!

She shrieked when he seized her wrist and pulled her to the floor. “Alaine!” he barked. “What on Gaia are you doing here? Gods, woman, cover yourself!”

Alaine wore nothing but a flashy skirt of pigeon feathers around her waist and cheap high-heeled shoes on her scaly feet. Evan pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. She was quick to reject his offer, pushing the cloak away. “What’s the problem? Can’t a girl have some fun?” she snapped. The men at the table began muttering amongst themselves. Evan noticed coins littering the tabletop, then his gaze drifted down to Alaine’s belt, where a bulging satchel was fastened.

“You call this ‘fun’? You’re disrespecting yourself!” he told her. “If you need money, then pick a contract and get to work!”

Alaine leaned in and hissed, “I _am_ working!”

“This isn’t a job, Alaine! This is clownery, and I won’t have it on my crew!”

“It is so a job,” the mermaid argued, jabbing his shoulder with her finger. “I make more dancing for an hour than you make hunting bounties all day! You’re just jealous!”

Evan recoiled. “Jealous? Surely you’re joking! As if I would ever stoop this low!”

“Well, thanks a lot!” Alaine rolled her eyes, tossing up her hands. “This is exactly what I was doing when you met me, you asshole! You weren’t so uptight then, so what’s your problem now?”

Before Evan could answer, one of the men at the table stood up and stepped between them. He was a towering roshava, well-muscled with long, black hair spilling down his shoulders. Tattoos marked his face and arms, all the way down to his four hands.

He threw one of his arms around Alaine’s shoulders and asked, “Is this guy bothering you, sweetheart? I can make him go away for ya, just say the word.” He flashed a glare at Evan, cracking the knuckles on his top set of hands. Evan returned the glare.

Alaine turned on the charm like a switch, batting her lashes at the stranger. Her voice was dripping with sweetness when she said, “Oh, what a brave, strong man you are! I bet you could throw him out like an old sack of potatoes, but why waste energy on him when you could be spending it on me? Let’s get a room, handsome.”

Evan’s jaw dropped again, cheeks burning hot. He was equal parts angry and scandalized. “Absolutely not! Come on, we’re going home!” he bellowed, grabbing her by the wrist. She tried to jerk out of his grip, but it was like a vice.

“Stop it! You’re being ridiculous!” she grunted, pulling and twisting herself to no avail.

“Hey, let her go!” the roshavan man growled. He grabbed Evan by the throat and slammed him against the wall. The captain lost his grip on Alaine and she scurried behind the table with the other men. Evan broke out of the hold by curling his body, hooking his left leg around the roshava’s gripping arm. His weight was far too heavy, causing the roshava to lose his balance. He fell forward and slammed his own face against the wall as Evan landed on his back, then managed to wriggle free.

Evan rolled between his legs and shot upright behind him, delivering a kick to his backside. The roshava collapsed on his belly, the other men whooping and hollering at the show. Alaine stamped her foot and shouted, “Evan, quit it! You’re gonna hurt him!”

“Let’s hope so!” said Evan, and he spit on the floor just beside the man. The roshava wasn’t down for long. He let out a furious growl and suddenly charged forward, tackling Evan around his waist. They both crashed into the little round table, breaking it to pieces. Alaine and the men scattered just in time, watching as the two brawled on the floor.

Alaine begged them to stop as she tried pulling them apart. But even she, with all her might and combat training, could not break the death-grips these hulking men had on eachother. The roshava got the upper hand and rolled on top of Evan. He closed his bottom set of hands around the captain’s throat and began pummeling him with the top set.

“You interrupt my dance with this nice lady, you treat her like dirt, and then you have the gall to _spit_ at me?” the roshava panted. “Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

Evan shut his eyes tightly, bracing himself against every punch to his head. He managed a deep breath and rasped through his teeth, “I’m…her…husband!”

The roshava’s fists froze in the air. He stared at Evan through rounded eyes, grip loosening around his throat. “What?” crowed Alaine. The men surrounding her began to murmur, suddenly reluctant to touch her. They took their hands off her shoulders and awkwardly stepped away. She turned back to them and said, “That’s a lie! I’m not married, he’s lying!”

Rubbing his sore neck, Evan croaked, “You thought I wouldn’t catch you here, huh? Consorting with all these strange men—shame on you! Did our vows mean nothing, you harlot?”

Alaine clenched her fists, jumping up and down like a child. “Stop it, stop it, stop it! You are such a fucking liar!” she screeched. She thrusted a finger at him and told the other men, “He is _not_ my husband! He’s not even into women! This man’s had more pricks in his mouth than teeth!”

The roshava looked back and forth between Evan and Alaine. Then he made his decision and rose to his feet. He grabbed Evan’s hand and pulled him up as well, even offered a handshake. “Sorry about this, guy. If she’s really your wife, you should’ve said somethin’ sooner! I wouldn’t have had to bust you up like this,” he said. He tipped his head to Alaine and told her, “I don’t know what’s going on here, but it sounds like a lot of drama. Sort yourselves out! I don’t need this tonight.”

With that, he disappeared into the crowd. So too did the other men, dispersing as Alaine helplessly chased after them, begging them to stay. While Evan wasn’t a Folkvaran native, he spent enough time in this kingdom to get acquainted with its culture. The Folkvaran people valued a strict code of honor, and even in a seedy place like this, few would dream of sleeping with a married woman. Not only was it shameful in the eyes of their gods, but it would land them in the stockades if the Folkvar Guard caught wind of it.

Alaine’s potential clients disappeared, wanting nothing more to do with her. She simply stood there and fumed with rage as Evan approached. He wiped his nostril, leaving a streak of blood down the back of his arm, and said, “I want you to stop this nonsense right now and get back to camp. You’re just begging for all kinds of trouble!”

He never saw it coming when Alaine whirled around, quick as lightning, and rammed her foot into his crotch. He let out a yowl and folded like a book, hitting the floor in a quaking, groaning heap. “You know what? Isaac was right about you!” she spat. “You really need to learn how to mind your own business! You might be my captain, but you’re not my god damn father!”

Evan heard her footsteps fading as she stomped away, but he couldn’t see her through the blur in his vision. His stomach rolled like the ocean, and he was sure he’d have lost his lunch if he had any in the first place. Patrons stared and giggled while he regained his composure. After some deep breaths, he grabbed the back of a chair and used it to hoist himself upright. The ache extended between his thighs, through his knocking knees, all the way down to his toes.

Despite all that, her words caused him more grief than her foot. Evan turned the chair around and collapsed in it, resting his elbows on his knees. He sat there for a long moment until Balthazaar showed up with two large, steaming plates in his hands.

“Captain, I just saw Ms. Fontaine over—woah! Shit, what happened to you?” blurted Balthazaar. He set the plates down and inspected Evan’s face. One of his eyes was blackened, lip swollen, nostril leaking a thin stream of blood.

Evan snatched a napkin off his plate and pressed his against his nose. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he sighed, turning towards his food. Both plates were piled with leafy greens, mashed potatoes, and a generous chunk of greasy goat-meat.

“It doesn’t look like nothing!” said Balthazaar. Evan silently ushered him to sit down. Reluctantly, Balthazaar obeyed and the two began to eat.

Over a mouthful of roast, Balthazaar asked, “Did you know Alaine’s walkin’ ‘round here with her teats out?”

Evan scrubbed at his swollen eye and said, “Oh, I’m very aware…”

*

Lukas heard a key slide into the door. He looked up from his book, snickering to himself when he heard Evan cursing and fighting with the sticky lock. After a moment, the door creaked open and the captain walked in with a paper sack in his hand. The curtains were drawn, but Lukas knew it must have been snowing because little white flakes were glistening on the man’s shoulders.

“Took you long enough. I’m starving to death over here,” said Lukas. He squinted in the dim candlelight. “Wait, what happened to you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Just got into a scuffle at the tavern, that’s all,” Evan assured him, setting the sack on the counter. He began to unpack it, loading potatoes and goat meat on a plate. He brought the plate to Lukas and sat on the edge of the bed.

“A scuffle…” Lukas snorted. “Disgrace’s beatdown just wasn’t enough for you, huh?”

Evan rolled his eyes and told him, “Alaine got herself into a situation. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t step in?”

“A smart one,” said Lukas, and suddenly he was silenced with a mouthful of potatoes.

Lukas could hardly hold a spoon steady through his violent chills, so Evan stayed by his side, feeding him bite after bite until the plate was clean. “How is it?” asked Evan.

“Better than stale bread, I’ll give you that,” said Lukas. “Too bad it’s colder than Kirkmar.”

“I know, I’m sorry about that. It’s a long walk from the tavern…”

Lukas smirked. “I’m just giving you a hard time. You’re good to me, Ev.”

Evan smiled back as he set the plate aside. Afterwards, he spread a towel on the floorboards, then carefully laid Lukas upon it and stripped him bare. The commander was covered in old scars from head to toe, each one earned during some past adventure in faraway lands. Only the gauze wrap around his waist remained. Evan was mindful of it as he dunked a rag in a bucket of soapy water and scrubbed his old friend down.

If only to take his mind off how cold he was, Lukas began, “This was probably twenty years ago now, but do you remember when we were hunting that brigand king in Taybiya? The one with the pet alligator?”

“I sure do.”

“Look at my calf, on the left. I _still_ have that scar.” Lukas turned his left leg over, exposing dozens of faded punctures in his calf.

Evan chuckled, “You’re lucky it’s just a scar. Soon as that gator got a hold of you, I thought we’d have two legs between us.”

“It was so fast! You’d think they wouldn’t be, but that thing came at me like a racehorse. Good thing you were spry that day.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to stand there and let it eat you…”

“I hear they wrestle gators for fun in the east. But there you were, making a _job_ of it,” said Lukas, and the two shared a laugh. Lukas’ smile was strained, pain rocketing up his belly with each cough.

He closed his eyes as Evan washed his hair, scrubbing each thin, dreaded lock between his fingers. “You got really banged up on that job,” mentioned Evan.

“Yeah,” agreed Lukas. “Not as bad as _this_ , but you were still wiping my ass just the same. Not even my own mother would do that for me.”

Evan grinned. “I’d do anything for you, Lukas. You know that.”

A brief silence passed between them as Evan rinsed Lukas’ locks over a metal tray. “We were a good team, huh?” asked Lukas.

“I like to think we still are,” Evan replied, flashing him a wary glance.

“For a two-man operation, I mean,” clarified Lukas. “Back then, it was just you and I. No friends, no backup. We barely had real gear. You wore those rubber tires on your shoulders for months before you could afford a pauldrons, remember that?”

The ghost of a laugh passed through Evan’s nostrils. “Ah, that’s right. I remember you used a shoelace as a bowstring for a while there too.”

Lukas’ fond smile faded. “Feels like we’re right back at square one again…”

“No, no,” Evan assured him, squeezing his hair in a dry towel. “This is only a minor setback. We’ll save up some money and return home before you know it.”

“Evan, what home? The whole compound is gone!”

“We’ve already staked our claim. All we have to do is rebuild.”

A look of doubt burdened Lukas’ face. “And for some reason, you think we’ll be able to afford that? We don’t have a big heap of gold this time. We’ll be living in mud huts on a mountain of ashes. You really want that?”

Evan shrugged and said, “It won’t be any worse than this. That was our _home_ , Lukas. We made a beautiful life there, free from the kingdoms and their nonsense. We can’t give it up so easily. We’ll return soon.”

“So will Disgrace,” muttered Lukas.

Evan wrung out the rag and carefully began cleaning the commander’s face. “Good,” he said flatly. “I have a present for him.”

Lukas let out a sigh, closed his eyes and admitted defeat. Evan was as stubborn as the day was long. Once he set his mind to something, Lukas knew he wouldn’t stop until he either got it or it blew up in his face and made a fool of him. He tried to steady his tremors as the rag moved down his body. Evan was especially mindful around the gauze wrap, for they couldn’t afford to change it more than once a day.

Most of the gold the crew made these last few weeks was being stored away in the so-called “Going Home Fund”. They were reluctant to spend a coin on anything else. Everyone just wanted to get off the streets of Woodborne as soon as possible, but they needed a great deal of supplies on hand first. They couldn’t simply venture out into the wilderness with nothing.

The issue occupied Lukas’ mind each and every day. Even now, he couldn’t stop turning the idea over in his head, planning and sorting and exhausting himself with all the things that could go wrong. He was so lost in his imaginary catastrophe, he hardly felt the rag pressing against his tender belly.

But he did feel a warm palm slide between his thighs. Lukas’ eyes snapped open. Evan was touching him in an intimate place, in an intimate way, that he hadn’t since their days of rubber pauldrons and shoelace bowstrings. Lukas sunk his teeth into his lip, resisting his traitorous urge to let it happen. His heart wanted this to continue, to progress into something more. But his troubled mind was roaring with catastrophes, and suddenly he found himself lobbing the tray of water at Evan’s head.

Evan took his hands off him with a gasp. Soapy water splashed everywhere, soaking his face and the front of his shirt. “I’m sorry!” he sputtered, swiping the water out of his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I-I just thought that—”

“You thought what? That you’d just move in while I was too weak to stop you?” snapped Lukas, wincing in pain as he propped himself up on his elbows. “God, you’re like a vulture!”

Picking up the tray, Evan argued, “No, of course not! Lukas, I am very sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, I just…I thought maybe it would help you feel better.”

Lukas chuckled, his tone thick with doubt when he said, “Oh, okay. Gods forbid you _ask_ a man before you reach for his pecker!”

Evan dragged a palm over his face, trying to conceal his red cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice muffled beneath his hand.

“I don’t _belong_ to you, you know,” Lukas reminded him sharply. “Just because I let you touch me once upon a time doesn’t mean you have free reign to do it now!”

“Yes, I realize that!”

“Then act like it!” Lukas shouted, snatching the rag off the floor and pitching it at him. “You dumped my stupid brother not even two months ago, and now here you are, already crawling back to my prick like it was just waiting for you the whole time! That’s pretty pathetic, Evan!”

The lycanthrope wanted to argue, but he didn’t have an argument to make. Lukas was right. Once again, Evan had pushed himself into a situation he didn’t belong, and now it was blowing up in his face. He was on a roll lately, he thought bitterly. Ever since his split with Jelani, he felt like every relationship he had was falling apart. What was wrong with him? Perhaps it was just as he dreaded. Perhaps the lycanthropy was taking hold and he was forgetting how to be human.

All he could manage was a quiet, “I’m sorry, Lukas. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. It’s not just you, I…I seem to be getting on everyone’s nerves lately.” He shook his head, swiping a dry towel off the back of a chair. He used it to sop up the water on the floor as he continued, “I guess I’m just lonely. I can’t stop loving you. I never stopped loving you, not even for a moment. I want so badly for you to feel the same.”

“I do feel the same. I just wish I didn’t, because there’s no way we can be together. It didn’t work back then and it’s not going to work now.”

“Why not?”

“You know why! Because you’re an idiot and I’m a coward,” explained Lukas. “Stop trying to make this work. I don’t _want_ it to work, Evan. I don’t _want_ to be close to you, because the more I love you, the harder it’s going to hurt when I lose you. Love is supposed to be this great and wonderful thing. But for me, it’s nothing but a nightmare! Loving you hurts me. How many times do I have to explain this before you get it through your thick skull? Get yourself a husband already and stop tormenting me like this! You could do a lot better anyway…”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Evan sighed, carefully patting him dry with a new towel. “What we had before is all I want.”

“What we had was trash. All we did was fight.”

“That’s not true at all,” insisted Evan. “Those times with you were the best times of my life. You were so sweet with me. I haven’t seen that sweetness again since you pushed me away. I know that person is still inside you somewhere, but this cold, brooding coward has him locked up like a prisoner.”

Lukas scowled at his feet, silent and rigid as Evan dressed him in a clean pair of pajamas. As he buttoned the shirt, Evan added, “I guess I keep doing this because I hope, maybe one day, the real Lukas will break free and love me again. I know he’s in there, because he tried to reach out to me when we staying at the World Athenaeum. And like an idiot, I rejected him in favor of a cruel, boorish king I didn’t even love. I’ve kicked myself for it every day since.”

Lukas’ face burned hot with shame. “That night was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said quickly.

“You weren’t thinking, you were following your heart,” replied Evan, carrying him to the bed. He gently laid him down and continued, “That’s your problem, Lukas. You think too much! Your brain thinks, it doesn’t feel. That’s what your heart is supposed to do, but you won’t let it. You’re making yourself miserable, can’t you see that? Why do you do this to yourself?”

Lukas glared at him. “We both know the answer to that,” he said.

“Tell me,” urged Evan. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Because your mother’s a whore, that’s why,” snapped Lukas, pulling the blanket over his head. “Thanks for dinner. Now get out of here, you’re giving me a headache.”

Evan pulled his blanket away and sat beside him, grasping his shoulders. His tone was desperate and sincere when he said, “Listen to me. I woke up before the sun this morning and picked through trash cans to feed my crew. I spent four hours tracking down a bounty, only to get paid half the gold I was promised. I used that money to pay Che, just to make sure he would take care of you. I talked one of my crewmen out of suicide, and then I got the brains pummeled out of me while trying to protect someone who didn’t appreciate it anyway.”

He gave Lukas’ shoulders a squeeze. “Perhaps I am a nosy, overbearing pest of a man. I told myself for so long that it was all out of love, but I realize now that isn’t the case. It’s out of _fear_. The thought of losing you—or anyone else—scares me to death. I am terrified, Lukas. No one but the gods are forever, and that’s why I shower you with love while I still can.”

Releasing the commander’s shoulders, he finished, “There. Now that I’ve told you why I’m an idiot, will you please return the favor and tell me why you’re a coward?”

Lukas fell silent, gaze drifting away into oblivion. He seemed to be in thought for a long moment as the candle flickered away on his bedside table. Its light casted bold shadows across his face. He answered slowly, “Fine. I’ll tell you exactly why. Because I loved someone once, long before I met you. I loved her with my whole heart and soul, and then I…” He paused, trying to choose his next words carefully. He simply gave up and sighed, “…I killed her. I never meant to, it just…I was trying to protect her, and it just happened. I killed Itanya. Shot an arrow straight through her throat.”

He gestured vaguely to his neck and continued, “And when I fell in love with you, I started having these…How can I even describe them? They were like waves of dread washing over me. I would remember her laying in the dirt, suffocating in her own blood, and I thought ‘What’s to stop this from happening to Evan? What if I kill him too?’”

He shook his head slightly, staring into the darkness. “The way I felt after losing Itanya, I couldn’t bear to feel that way again. I wouldn’t survive it. So I tried to stop loving you. I’d pick fights with you, say the foulest things I could think of, just trying to get you to hate me and make it easier. But you never did. You just kept loving me like the idiot you are, so I had to push you away and pretend like I didn’t care about you anymore. I thought if I lied to myself long enough, maybe it would come true.”

With a shrug, he went on, “Now it’s twenty years later and I here I am, treating you like trash and pushing you away, while deep down, I love you more than ever.” He paused. “Wow, that does sound worse out loud. Maybe _I’m_ the idiot…”

Evan offered a doleful little smile and said, “Good to see you again, love.”

“Don’t think this means anything. You’re still not getting in my pants.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Evan assured him. “I just wanted to know you’re alive in there somewhere. I see you still trust me enough to show your belly. That means a lot to me.”

“How does that stupid saying go? Every oyster’s squishy inside…?” began Lukas.

“Some just have thicker shells than others,” finished Evan. He nudged Lukas’ jaw and teased, “This one has a pearl in it.”

“Yeah, and a raging systemic infection,” Lukas teased back.

Evan stood up and said, “Speaking of, you really look like you could use some rest. I’ve got to get back to camp, make sure everything’s holding together. I’m sorry I upset you, but I am glad we got to talk.”

“Me too,” admitted Lukas. “And…shit, I’m sorry too. I may not like what you’re saying, but I know it’s all true. Every word of it. I’m over forty years old, I already have one foot in the grave. I can’t keep living my life this way.”

Reaching for the doorknob, Evan told him, “Just focus on healing for now, friend. We’ll get this mess sorted before you know it. You’ll beat this infection, then we’ll return to the Hollow and make it even better than before. You’ll see. Do you need anything else before I go?”

Lukas thought about it for a moment. “No,” he decided. “Just one question…Which one of the Guys was talking about suicide?”

Evan hesitated, then sighed, “Take a guess…”

Lukas replied with a knowing little hum. Evan added, “I think he’s okay for the time being, but we need to keep an eye on him. If I can get him to put down the bottle and runs a few jobs, maybe he’ll bounce back. He’s feeling pretty rotten about himself right now.”

“I bet. Poor bastard,” muttered Lukas. “I’m surprised he’s this torn up about it, to be honest. Their marriage was a total mess.”

“That may be. But despite his faults, I have no doubt he truly loved that woman. Some of us just struggle to show it properly, as we know.”

“Ugh, just hammer it in, why don’t you…”

Evan offered a smile. “Good night, Lukas,” he said, and then he disappeared through the doorway.

*

_WINTER, 6007_

The weeks passed by, the contracts kept rolling in, and little by little the Freelance Good Guys started building a profit. They rented inn rooms for a few days out of the week, if only to get a break from the cold. They even bought a room for Dr. Che. Though he wasn’t part of their crew, he was still a priceless asset they were unwilling to lose.

The women and children were accepted into charity shelters during the night. The shelters also let Olof sneak in out of pity, if only because he was Frederick’s only living parent and crippled on top of that. Some of the refugees joined the Folkvaran military in exchange for food, board, and citizenship. Day by day, the population in the alleyway was growing thinner.

One night, Brogan returned to the alley and found only a single soul left. Itchy was huddled over a fire burning in a barrel, wrapped up in a ragged wool coat. The sun had just gone down and the air was bitter-cold, freezing shallow puddles on the street. A light dusting of snow covered every surface.

“Where on Gaia’s green arse did everyone go?” asked Brogan, approaching the barrel to warm his hands. He wore layers of tattered flannels and coats he’d scrounged up over the weeks.

Steam gusted from Itchy mouth when he replied, “Inns. Shelters. Churches. Places a satyr can’t afford or ain’t wanted anyway…”

“Aye, this town’s got it out fer us!” said Brogan. “I been huntin’ fer work since the day we got ‘ere, and I can’t get a lead fer nothin’! Sneak-thief this, goat-fecker that…They call us all bums, but ain’t none of ‘em will hire us! What kinda sense does that make?”

Itchy replied with a smirk, “So, you’re finally wakin’ up, huh? It’s a nasty world outside your sweet little village! I’m tellin’ you, Brogan…Out here, satyrs are the scum of the earth. We ain’t but shit on everyone’s shoes, so we gotta do what we can to survive.”

Exasperated, Brogan exclaimed, “I’m already doin’ it all, lad, and I still ain’t got a single coin in my pocket! I been goin’ all over town, askin’ fer jobs just like the missus told me. They don’t even trust me to shovel shite off the sidewalk! How am I supposed to make money if I can’t get no job?”

Itchy chuckled, shaking his head. “Listen. When you’re treated like a lowlife everywhere you go, then you got no choice but to start actin’ like one. They wanna call you a sneak-thief? Then get sneaky and do some thievin’. They have it coming, if you ask me.”

Furrowing his bushy brows, Brogan rumbled, “I ain’t like you, ya scalawag. I don’t do that no more.”

“’No more’?” Itchy turned to him, suddenly intrigued. “Are you telling me Brogan, chief officer of the Hollow, used to have sticky fingers? Oh, do tell!”

“Aw, shut yer gob,” muttered Brogan. “My ma shat me into that life. I didn’t know no better. And unlike you, I ain’t proud of it!”

Itchy grinned, exposing a mouthful of crooked, yellow teeth. “Come on, a skill’s a skill! Have some pride in your work!”

“That wasn’t work! Sailin’ around the coast, hijackin’ slave ships ‘n actin’ like a degenerate? Bah! I didn’t work a single day in my wretched life ‘til I met my Gwynny. Sharpest lass I ever did know. She got me away from those lowlifes ‘n taught me right.”

“She went and chopped off your nuts is what she did,” Itchy mumbled. He yowled when Brogan punched his shoulder.

“Ferget it! I ain’t no thief and I ain’t gonna act like one!” Brogan decided.

“Then you ain’t gonna eat,” Itchy told him flatly. “You can starve to death as a gentleman, but I’ll outlive ya as a bastard. Look here.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little burlap sack.

Brogan’s furry ears twitched at the jingle inside. “Gold? Where’d ya get it?” he asked.

Itchy leaned in and explained quietly, “Kind donations from folks who don’t mind their pockets. Now, I can score a lot more than this, and I’ll even split it with ya. But you gotta do as I say, got it?”

Brogan scowled, ears pressed flat against his head. “I don’t like where yer goin’ with this…”

“Hey, look, no one’s gonna get hurt!” Itchy began. “In fact, we’ll make a good deed of it. You know, there’s folks out there who got a real problem with booze. They hit the tavern, drink all their money, the come home piss-drunk and smack the kids around. Nasty business, right? Well, what if we just lightened their pockets a little? Took some of that booze money off their hands. They go home sober, the kids are happy, and we walk away richer. What do you say?”

Brogan stared at his hooves, green eyes darting back and forth in contemplation. “Gwynny ain’t gonna like it,” he muttered.

“She _really_ ain’t gonna like it if you come home broke again,” mentioned Itchy. “Just tell her you got a job outta town! She’ll never even know!”

Later that night, Brogan found himself standing outside a tavern with Itchy. They watched patrons walk in sober and stumble out drunk for some time. Brogan was regretting his decision more and more by the minute as Itchy carefully scoped out their prey.

“It’s been a real long time since I done anything like this,” Brogan whispered. “What if we get caught?”

Itchy told him, “What if we don’t? Think of the prize, not the punishment!”

After a while, Itchy decided the front entrance was too crowded and led him down the dark, narrow alley beside the tavern. It led to a little space with a back door and a dumpster just beside it. “Whew! It _reeks_ of piss back here,” Itchy observed with a smirk. “This is our jackpot! Okay, now just wait for my signal…”

The two crouched behind the dumpster. There they waited until the back door creaked open and someone stumbled out. They were barely more than a shadow in the dim light of the single lantern, a human-sized silhouette on the smaller side. Itchy squinted. His satyr eyes could make out shapes even in pitch blackness, but they could not determine color or fine detail at such a range. The figure squatted in the corner of the alley to relieve themselves, and that’s when Itchy gave his signal.

The two satyrs rushed the stranger in a flurry of hooves and horns. In theory, they would push the victim over while their pants were down, snatch their wallet, and make a run for it. In reality, the figure heard them coming and whirled around, seizing Brogan by the ankles. They pulled his hooves out from under him, sending him toppling on his behind, then shot up and delivered a high kick across Itchy’s face.

Itchy spun like a top before he hit the ground. An instant later, he howled for mercy as a knee dropped against his spine and his arm was pinned painfully behind his back. He saw Brogan pinned right next to him, getting his face repeatedly smashed against the dirt. The one doing the smashing was none other than Alaine Fontaine, one of Captain Atlas’ most fearsome crewmen.

“Who do you think you are, trying to jump a lady? Shame on you, I’ll put both of you scumbags in the fucking ground!” she snarled. Itchy couldn’t see her, but he’d listened to her sing at Drifter’s Inn enough to recognize her voice anywhere. She tangled her fingers in Brogan’s long, blonde hair and continued to ram his face into the ground until her mermaid eyes adjusted to the darkness.

After a few seconds, she ceased her attack and fell silent. “Wait a minute…” she gasped. “Brogan? Itchy? Oh my god, what are you idiots _doing_ back here?”

They let out sighs of relief as she pulled her knees off their backs. She stood upright before them, clad in a feathery skirt and a skimpy top that were wildly inappropriate for the season. Before he got up off the ground, Itchy noticed one the tall heels on her shoes was broken. That explained the stumbling, which he’d mistaken for drunkenness.

What a mess this turned out to be, he thought. Worse yet, Brogan was shamed into silence, leaving Itchy to come up with excuses all on his own. “Uuuh…” he began, clearing his throat. “I don’t know about him, but I just came back here to take a piss, that’s all! I mean, what else do you do in a dump like this?”

“Gee, I dunno. _Rob_ people, maybe?” snapped Alaine, planting her hands on her hips. Itchy closed his mouth tight. She wasn’t fooled for a moment. The satyrs shrunk in her presence as she continued, “You were really gonna tackle drunks while they had their pants down, huh? That’s devious, Itchy, even for you! And Brogan, I never thought you’d stoop this low! Do your wives know you’re out here acting like hoodlums?”

Brogan’s eyes rounded like coins. Finally he spoke, begging on his knees, “Don’t tell her, lassie! Please, please, don’t tell Gwynny about none’a this! I knew this was a bad idea! I won’t do it again, not ever! I promise!”

Itchy joined him on his knees, clutching Alaine’s skirt as he pleaded, “And don’t tell Ginger either! Please, ya can’t! She’ll kill me where I stand, and it’ll be all on you! How are you gonna sleep at night with that kinda guilt? I’ll haunt you, I swear I will! Don’t do it, Alaine, please…!”

“Ugh! Alright, alright, get your grubby hands off me!” the mermaid shuddered, jerking away from him. “You know, I wouldn’t _have_ anything bad to tell them if you didn’t _do_ anything bad in the first place. Why can’t you just behave yourselves?”

“We’re so hungry, lassie!” Brogan nearly sobbed. “A satyr can’t get no work in this nasty town! We wouldn’t be doin’ this if we had the choice, but there just ain’t no choices left!”

Itchy added, “Everything he’s sayin’, it’s all true! This place ain’t like the Hollow! They don’t like our kind here, they treat us like garbage!”

“You think I don’t know what that’s like? Hello, I’m a _mermaid_!” Alaine gestured to herself and continued, “As far as these hicks are concerned, I’m only here to steal their kids and drown their husbands. Why do you think I’m hanging out at this dive, wearing this stupid outfit? I’m not here for fun, boys! I’m here to work!”

She pulled the flowery ornament out of her hair and tossed it at Itchy. “If no one’s hiring, then you’ll just have to be your own boss. Doll yourselves up and sell your asses if it comes down to it. Still more honorable than robbing folks while they’re taking a piss! Ugh, I still can’t believe you did that!”

“It won’t happen again, trust me on that!” Brogan assured her. He pointed an accusatory finger at Itchy and added, “It was all his idea, lass! I said ‘no’, but he just kept—”

Alaine waved her hands and told him, “Look, I don’t care who’s idea it was or why you were doing it. But if I catch you out here again, I’ll break my foot on your backsides and then I’ll have a chat with your wives. Are we clear?”

“Aye!”

“Crystal, ma’am,” the satyrs replied. Alaine watched them scramble away into the night, slipping and sliding on the icy street. She shook her head and returned to the tavern.

*


	2. Miracle on the Mountain

**[CHAPTER 2: MIRACLE ON THE MOUNTAIN]**

Woodborne’s shelters for the poor and downtrodden were stuffed full during the cold season. Those who arrived late that night were left out in the cold, for there was no space left for their bedrolls inside. Ginger and her children arrived early enough to secure a space on the tiled floor. This space was marked by a rectangle of white tiles among the brown, and the pattern repeated to mark at least five dozen more rectangles around them.

They were among many strangers, but at least the place was warm and dry. Philippa had one space to herself to Ginger’s right, Olof and Frederick sharing one to her left, and Gwyneth shared a spot with Linde north of her. She knew Elska, Tojum, and some other villagers were somewhere in the room, but the place was so vast and crowded that Ginger couldn’t see them from her space.

Cinnamon squirmed in Ginger’s lap. She tugged at her mother’s necklace and queried for the tenth time since they arrived, “Papa? Where papa?”

“We’ll see papa tomorrow, darling,” Ginger told her wearily. Her green eyes kept anxiously scanning the room, ringed by dark bags. She hardly slept during the night, for the room was full of strangers and she feared they’d harm her children.

“I never thought I’d say this, but at least Itchy’s bringing something to the table,” said Gwyneth. “Brogan still hasn’t made a single coin since we left the Hollow. I’ve been busting my knuckles at the soap factory since week one, meanwhile he showed up again tonight with nothing! If a loser like Itchy can get a job, why can’t he? Ugh, Brogan’s as useless as a one-legged chair!”

A strained smile crossed Ginger’s face, eyes doleful above. “I’m so proud of my Itchy,” she said. “That is, if he’s really working like he says he is. You never know with him. I’m just so afraid he’ll fall back into his old ways…”

“I talked with Mr. Itchy about his job yesterday,” began Olof. “I asked him if they needed more help, but he told me I could not make bricks with only one hand. Perhaps he is right.” The centaur sighed, looking down at the stump at the end of his wrist.

Ginger raised an eyebrow. “Making bricks? He told me he was making candles.”

“That’s funny. I heard he was farming sheep,” mentioned Linde.

Ginger dropped her face into her hands. “Oh no…” she groaned.

Gwyneth reached out and patted her shoulder. She said, “Don’t get too worked up about it. At least one way or another, he’s keeping you fed. Can’t say the same for Brogan. It doesn’t matter what he does at this point; he could sell his ass for all I care! I just wish he’d contribute _something_. Soap is a luxury on my wages, and I work at a damn soap factory!” She scowled, tossing her greasy, black bangs out of her eyes. “Soon as I save enough gold to get my shop going again, I’m walking out of there with a bang. I’ll cram a bar of soap right down my boss’s throat! And then I’ll run him out of business just to rub salt in the wound!”

Olof said, “Please, do not take your job for granted. Some coin is better than no coin. I am feeling much better, but I have lost two jobs already because of my hand.” He raised his stump. “I forget it is gone sometimes. I drop everything. I have broken too many materials, lost too much gold. What can I do, my friends? I must make money soon.” He gestured to Frederick, playing with a bone figurine beside him. “Look at my poor son, he is getting so thin! I cannot search for food and work at the same time! I am failing him!”

Gwyneth let out a snort. “You call that ‘thin’? Kid’s lost half his mass and he’s _still_ a porker.”

“What did you call me?” blurted Frederick. Tomato giggled until Frederick threw his figurine at him, striking him in the head.

Ginger embraced her son and scolded the centaur, “No throwing, Freddie! Use your words!”

Pointing to Gwyneth, Frederick argued, “Why don’t you yell at her? She’s using her words to be a nasty twat!”

Those around him gasped, except for Tomato, who only giggled harder.

“Frederick of Kaldenfel, shame on you!” scolded Ginger. “Where did you learn that horrible word?”

“Mr. Itchy says it all the time,” the child replied casually.

The satyress scrubbed at her weary eyes and sighed, “Oh, Gaia help me…”

“Please do not be so hard on him, Mrs. Fallbrooke,” pleaded Olof, pulling Frederick closer. “He has seen many terrible things a boy should never see! All of the children have been through so much. We must protect them now more than ever.”

Frederick wriggled out of his arms and told him, “You don’t need to protect me anymore. I’m a man now. That’s what Ms. Elska said when you were in the hospital.”

“You are not a man yet, my son. Not until you can feed yourself.” Olof’s expression was strained with grief, his voice burdened by shame. “That is supposed to be my job, but I am failing you miserably. I am very sorry. I will try to find work again tomorrow.”

“No need to rush,” jabbed Gwyneth. “The kid can survive on his own blubber for at least another season.”

Frederick lunged at her with a snarl, but Olof snatched his tail and held him back. “Mrs. Fallbroke, please. You are being unkind…” he said wearily.

The elfenne recoiled, scoffing in offense. She slapped a hand to her chest and said, “Unkind? I’m just being honest! You live in a fantasy world, Olof. I’m only trying to bring you back to reality. You’re worrying yourself to death over this boy, but he’s big enough to trample a troll to paste. You’re doing him no favors, coddling him the way you do. He’s too big, too mean, and spoiled rotten! That’s why he’s such a menace, and I think I speak for all of us when I say I’ve had enough!”

Gwyneth punctuated her rant with a tight cross of her arms, glaring daggers at the centaur boy. He glared back at her, fists clenched at his sides. The other villagers said nothing, for they agreed wholeheartedly, but none of them had the courage to say it to Olof’s face the way she did. Frederick thrashed around and snarled, trying desperately to grab the elf. Olof kept a strong grip on his tail, his eyes heavy with hurt.

“You’re the mean one, Gwyneth!” shouted Frederick. “You’re the meanest, nastiest, ugliest witch in the whole Hollow! I wish you’d just drop dead already!”

“The feeling’s mutual, you little snot!” the elfenne snapped back.

“Nobody likes you, and they never will ‘cause you’re so disgusting!”

“You shut that fat mouth of yours or I’ll shut it for you!”

“How are you gonna shut my mouth when you can’t even shut yours?”

Gwyneth turned to Olof and barked, “Are you just going to sit there and let your little monster act like this, or are you going to do some real parenting for once in your life?”

Olof remained silent, hanging his head in shame. Frederick’s hooves continued to slip against the tiles as he reached for Gwyneth, growling, “Don’t talk to my dad that way, you twat!”

“If he’s not going to do his job, maybe I’ll call Ms. Elska over here to do it for him! How about that?” the elfenne threatened, already scanning the room for Elska.

“Go ahead,” shouted Frederick, “she won’t do anything ‘cause she doesn’t like you either! I could stomp on your ugly head and squash your brains out and nobody would even cry about it!”

“Frederick!” a voice bellowed, echoing over the entire shelter. The chatter in the room fell to silence. The villagers stared, in utter disbelief that the voice had come from gentle, mild-mannered Olof. He dragged his son closer to him and said sternly, “You are behaving dishonorably and it is unacceptable! This behavior brings shame to me, to your village, and to your ancestors! You will control your anger, you will respect your elders, and you will apologize to Mrs. Fallbrooke at once!”

Frederick stared up at his father through wide eyes. “B-but…” he stammered, but Olof spoke over him with the same sternness as before,

“Apologize to Mrs. Fallbrooke!”

His tone left no room for discussion, nor did the hardened expression on his face. Frederick turned back to Gwyneth and said meekly, “I’m sorry I called you a twat, Mrs. Fallbrooke. And um, all that other stuff.”

Gwyneth’s eyes darted between the boy and his father, still wary about the situation. She had never heard Olof raise his voice before, much less assert himself. “Well now, that’s more like it,” she said. “You _should_ be sorry. Well done, Mr. Olof. Turns out you have a spine after all.”

She jumped when Olof thrusted his arm towards her, pointing at her with his stump. “And you,” he began flatly. “You will not talk down to my son, nor belittle him or call him names. You will treat him with honor and respect, as you should be treating the rest of our people. I will no longer allow you to treat my loved ones so callously. Do we have an understanding, Mrs. Fallbrooke?”

Gwyneth’s brown face blanched to a sickly shade of grey. Her shoulders were tensed, slim fingers tangled near her chest. She struggled to maintain the usual sharpness in her tone when she replied, “Whatever you say, _Dad_.”

The air seemed to soften somehow as the villagers collectively relaxed their shoulders. A big, open smile crossed Philippa’s face. She clasped her hands together and gasped excitedly, “Wow! Listen to you, Mr. Olof!”

Ginger followed suit, pressing a hand to her chest. She told him, “I never thought I’d see the day, Mr. Olof! I always knew you had it in you!”

Olof hung his head, concealing his pink cheeks behind his curtain of long, ashen hair. He swiped at his shoulder and mumbled, “My cowardice has brought shame to our village for too long. I will not allow us to grow further apart. We are of different kinds, but we are all one clan. A clan divided is weak. Together we will remain strong. We will endure these terrible times and we will come through them even stronger. But we cannot do this unless we have courage and honor.”

He turned back to Frederick, placing his hand on his head. “Frederick,” he said, “I have indeed failed you, but the true failure comes not from food and shelter. These things are just resources; they will not follow us into the cosmos. No, I failed you when I let my cowardice rule me. I did not teach you the values of our people because I was afraid they would burden you. But these values—these things such as courage, honor, perseverance, and kindness—are things that every centaur must learn from their elders.”

He pulled Frederick into a tight hug and continued, “As your last surviving elder, it is my responsibility to teach you, and I will not be afraid anymore. Like Mrs. Fallbrooke said, I have been doing you no favors by letting you run wild. I will expect more of you starting tomorrow. We will make our ancestors—and your mother—proud.”

*

Perhaps the middle of winter was not the best time to fly, and the treacherous Shrieking Mountains were not the best place to fly. But there were contracts to be done and the Freelance Good Guys were in desperate need of gold, so Isaac saddled up his roc and agreed to deliver cargo from Woodborne to Folkvar Capital.

Shadow pumped her wings with all her might, battling another icy gust of wind. She clutched a rope in her talons, which was attached to a heavy wooden crate. Supposedly the cargo was quite valuable, and Isaac thought it would be faster and safer to fly it to its destination rather than pulling it by cart. The road to Folkvar Capital was long, cold, and infested with bandits. Still unable to afford a proper suit of armor, Isaac didn’t feel confident traveling such a road.

He wasn’t feeling so confident flying through this blizzard either, and now he was regretting his choice as hail pelted him from all directions. Shadow let out shrieks of distress, having long since lost her sense of direction. Isaac’s goggles were so obscured by snow, he couldn’t see an arm’s length in front of his face. He briefly pushed them up to his head, enduring the merciless wind in his eyes while he got his bearings. He could no longer see the lights of the little villages dotting the mountains, could not even read his compass through the snowy assault.

A powerful gust of wind raged over him, blowing the compass right out of his grip. Shadow shrieked and nearly spiraled sideways as the young mercenary gripped her reins for dear life. The cargo slipped from Shadow’s talons. Isaac watched it disappear into the fog below. “Oh! No, no, no!” he cried, but it was far too late.

With or without the cargo, it was time to make an emergency landing. Isaac guided the roc down to a flat crag on the mountain. There he found the crate, which had broken apart and spilled its contents all down the side of the jagged slope. Thousands of fancy, expensive soaps were now being exposed to the elements, ruined in the blink of an eye.

Isaac rubbed his aching temples. Well, there went his pay.

He couldn’t possibly stay out here and attempt to save the cargo. It would take hours, the weather was raging, and it was much too cold. He saw an opening in the mountain’s rocky face and whistled, beckoning Shadow to follow him inside.

At last, they were safe from the weather. The wind howled like a wolf, snowflakes falling so hard and fast that Isaac could not see anything beyond them. He figured they would just have to wait for the storm to pass. In the meantime, he fished some matches and a couple logs out of Shadow’s saddlebags and started a small fire.

The flames lit up a tiny area in the darkness. Isaac crouched beside it, trying to warm his hands. They were freezing even inside his gloves, his wool and leather coat wet with melted snow. He glanced at the entrance. It looked like they weren’t going anywhere any time soon. They might even be trapped in this cave all day and night.

Isaac stood up to get some supplies from Shadow’s bags. He jumped back when she suddenly spread her wings and let out a low, menacing crow. She was growling at total darkness, at least to Isaac’s human eyes. He whipped the scythe off his back and whispered, “What is it, girl?”

Shadow kept her wings raised, puffing herself up at some unseen threat. Something hissed back at her from the darkness, a sound perhaps from a giant snake or a panther. Shortly after, he heard the clanging of metal, as if a pile of metal scrap had fallen over.

Isaac readied his scythe, keeping close to Shadow. “Show yourself!” he called to the darkness. It was probably an animal, but what if it wasn’t? There was no telling what to expect up here in the Shrieking Mountains.

He heard more hissing and clanging metal. Isaac decided to lure their foe into the light. He grabbed Shadow’s reins and pulled her several steps back towards the entrance. A strange creature followed, emerging from the blackness. It was not as large as Shadow, but it was much larger than Isaac. It appeared to be some kind of wingless dragon, a green, scaly creature with a long neck and a fat, rat-like body. Its back legs supported most of its weight, while its front legs were far smaller and tipped with hooked claws.

Isaac’s shoulders relaxed. So, it was only a beast. He could deal with beasts.

“Shadow, stand down,” he commanded. The roc cocked her head at him, as if baffled by his order, but reluctantly obeyed anyway. She folded her wings and sat down, watching closely while Isaac approached the dragon.

Isaac slowly crept forward with one palm extended, the other hand clutching his scythe. “It’s okay, buddy. We don’t want any trouble. You don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you,” he told the creature. He reached into his pocket and found a piece of jerky he’d been gnawing on earlier. “Here, want a snack?” he offered, and held it out to the dragon.

The dragon’s pupils rounded in its yellow eyes. It flicked out its tongue and snatched the jerky, not even bothering to chew before it swallowed. In that instant, it lost all sense of caution and waddled up to Isaac, sniffing and pawing at his pockets. Shadow crowed warily nearby.

Isaac laughed and scratched the dragon’s head. A long, bristly mane of hair stretched from its head to the tip of its tail. “You’re a big fella!” observed Isaac. “What are you eating way up here? Probably goats and stuff, huh?”

The dragon made loud, wet snuffling noises as it searched every one of Isaac’s pockets. When it found nothing of interest, it turned around and waddled back into the darkness. “Aww, where ya goin’?” queried Isaac. He had never seen such a dragon and he was curious to know more. He picked up a stick from the fire, using it to light his way as he followed the creature deeper into the cave. He heard an anxious squeak from Shadow, urging him not to go.

“It’s okay, girl. Stay there,” he told her. Shadow squirmed and chattered behind him as he made his way the very back of the cave. There he found the dragon, sitting atop a massive pile of something that was taller than Isaac. Isaac squinted and stepped closer, trying to decipher what he was looking at in the bold shadows. He gasped, fumbling with his torch when he realized…

It was a mountain of corpses. Not just any corpses, but specifically those of peoples, and even more specifically, those of soldiers. Isaac could tell by the plates of steel and leather, the blue and red motifs, that these were once soldiers of the Evangeline and Folkvar kingdoms. They were all frozen and in various states of destruction, as if the dragon had been slowly gnawing the meat off them over a long period of time.

“Oh, uh, wow,” said Isaac, his voice cracking terribly. “That’s…quite a collection you got there, buddy…”

The dragon sat curled atop its gruesome hoard like a house cat. It regarded him with a simple thump of its tail, perhaps a warning. When Isaac took another step closer, it began to hiss from the depths of its throat. Another warning.

Isaac put his scythe away in its harness. He raised his palms to show he meant no harm and said, “I’m not gonna touch anything, okay? I just want to—ugh, it stinks…!” He recoiled a little, pulling his bandana back over his nose and mouth.

He walked around the mountain to inspect it, wondering how exactly these soldiers ended up here. Maybe the dragon snatched them from their camps in the night. Or maybe they had died in a battle on the mountain and the dragon just picked up the carnage. Some of the armor looked quite old—ancient, even. Isaac didn’t know the lifespan of these creatures, but judging by the style of some of these armor pieces, it appeared it had been hoarding dead soldiers for centuries.

The remains at the bottom were picked clean, reduced to bare bones. Many had broken down into shards and dust. The remains at the top were obviously the freshest, and most of their armor was in pristine condition.

“Aww, man…You’re sitting on a _lot_ of good armor there,” he told the dragon. “You don’t even care, do you? You just want the meat. What if I just…?” He cautiously reached for an old steel helmet lying loose in the pile. The dragon immediately charged him with a hiss, slamming its tiny hands down on top of the helmet. Isaac jumped back and said, “Okay! Gotcha! So all this stuff is yours then, every little piece…”

Isaac stared at the mountain for another long moment. After a while, the corpses disappeared and all he could see was money. Most of this would surely fit his crew, and what didn’t fit could easily be sold. An opportunity like this didn’t come around often. What were the chances that he’d stumble upon exactly what he needed? Even if it was lodged in a putrid pile of bodies, Isaac couldn’t just let a blessing like this pass him by.

“Do you really need all of this?” he asked, reaching for a gauntlet. “I understand the meat, but what does a dragon need all this gear for?”

The dragon watched him closely. The moment his fingertips touched the gauntlet, it hissed and slapped him with its tail. Isaac scrambled back, shocked but unharmed. The slap was half-hearted, really more of a push. There was more annoyance than aggression behind it.

“You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?” sighed Isaac. He knew he apparently had a faunae’s blessing, and that meant no beast could ever harm him, even it wanted to. He was sure he could start loading this hoard up with his cargo and the dragon would be powerless to stop him.

But in Isaac’s mind, that simply wasn’t fair. He was no thief, he was Good Guy! He paced back and forth, trying to think of solutions. He did not want to steal from this funny creature any more than he wanted his crew to slum around in Woodborne.

“Hey! I know!” he gasped, then sprinted outside the cave. The dragon waited patiently on top of its hoard until he returned, all covered with snow. Isaac dropped an armful of wet, fancy soaps at the base of the hoard. They were carved into a variety of curious shapes and dyed vibrant colors. The dragon seemed intrigued, tilting its head at the sight of them.

“Look at these,” panted Isaac. “Pretty great, huh? They come in all kinds of shapes, and they smell a whole lot better than all this stuff…” He swept a hand towards the frozen corpses.

The dragon crawled down from its pile to investigate. It first sniffed at the soaps, then picked them up in its rat-like hands and took a bite out of one. It was quick to spit it out, but the bad taste didn’t seem to dampen its interest. It scooped up all the soaps and began meticulously stacking them. Isaac went on, “You like ‘em? I got a whole lot more where these came from. I’ll trade them to you for some of that armor. What do you say?”

Isaac inched his way towards the corpse pile. The dragon thumped its tail and let out a growl, but its agitation was brief. It quickly returned to the soaps, sniffing and arranging them while Isaac carefully pulled a helmet off a dead soldier’s skull.

The dragon didn’t seem to mind. Isaac slipped the helmet into Shadow’s saddlebag, then left the cave to retrieve more of the soaps lying all over the ground. The dragon greedily snatched them up, happily occupied while its collection of armor disappeared.

*

Alaine had scared Itchy out of stealing for the time being. There were just too many Freelance Good Guys wandering around, too many eyes to witness his bad deeds and too many mouths to report them to Alaine. Alaine would surely thrash him before reporting his deeds to his wife.

Itchy would sooner sit in prison than face Ginger’s disappointment, so this evening he donned Alaine’s hair decoration and parked himself in a place where Ginger would never set hoof: a brothel in the Woodborne slums.

He was no stranger to this seedy line of work, but it was something he hadn’t done in over a decade, and something he hoped he’d never do again. He whored strictly for booze money in his youth, and he could usually lure in at least a couple drunk patrons a night.

Tonight, he whored less selfishly, for he was only trying to feed his family. But the years had not been kind to Itchy, and he had certainly not been kind to himself. His once full head of rich, curly hair was now half bald and graying, the rest left so mangy that it had tangled itself into locks. He was unwashed and unkempt, his dirty flesh bared except for that beneath his furry legs. The bulge in his belly crept on so slowly over the years, he hardly noticed until his muscles had completely disappeared below the fat.

The satyr did not have much to flaunt anymore, and he was struggling to appeal even to the drunkest of patrons. He spent the better part of an hour strutting from table to table, trying to solicit men and women alike, only to get rejected—sometimes violently.

Itchy scanned the room, trying to find someone he hadn’t asked yet. He spotted a sad-looking troll sitting in the darkest corner of the bar area, surrounded by no less than three empty steins. He was clad in grungy blue-collar garb, wearing the muddy leather boots of a working man. He was sad, ugly, drunk, and he clearly had an income.

Itchy saw a shapely wench in a corset making her way over to him. He bolted towards her and growled, “Back off, floozy, he’s mine!” She shrieked when he shoved her to the floor and bounded up to the patron’s table. He leaned his elbow on the tabletop, accidentally knocking a stein down. He ignored the loud shatter and greeted, “Hey there, handsome! You look like a hard-workin’ guy, all that sweat on your shirt. How about you come with me ‘n take a load off? Or _get_ a load off. Whatever tickles ya.”

The troll blinked his bloodshot eyes out of tandem, looking him up and down several times. All he saw was an old, out of shape satyr wearing a fake flower in his hair. “Ain’t you a man?” he slurred.

Itchy waggled his eyebrows and told him, “For just two measly coins, I can be whatever you want me to be…”

Just then, a woman called his name. “Itchy!”

Itchy whirled around with a yelp, knocking another stein to the floor. He frantically looked this way and that, sure that Ginger had caught him at his very lowest. But the woman staring back at him from across the room was not Ginger. She was a satyr perhaps a couple decades older than himself, clearly a wench if her corset and short skirt were any indication. Her tired face was painted with bold makeup, her curly, graying hair done up in a messy braid.

Her golden eyes rounded and a big smile stretched across her face. Her teeth were in even worse condition than Itchy’s. Suddenly she was charging towards him, crying, “There you are! My baby boy!”

There was no time and no place to run. Itchy was tackled to the floor and peppered with fervent kisses all over his face. “Ah, shit, not you again! Get off me, ya crazy twat!” he sputtered. He stood up and tried to pry her away, but her arms were locked around his shoulders.

She spoke rapidly, desperately when she pleaded, “No, no, Itchy! Listen to me! I’m your mother! It’s me, it’s Ba-Ba! Remember, little flea? Don’t you remember?” She grasped the sides of his face, forcing him to look into her eyes. They were bloodshot, haggard, and her irises were as gold as the sunset.

Itchy furrowed his brow. He must have been silent for a little too long, for the strange satyress added, “I won’t leave you again, my baby, I promise! I-I cleaned myself up, I don’t drink no more—not too much!”

“Lady, my Ba-Ba’s dead,” Itchy told her bluntly. “You’re outta your mind! How do you know my name? Do I owe you money or somethin’? ‘Cause I clearly don’t have it right now!” He gestured down at himself.

The woman asked, “Is that what Mr. Sarfeesha told you? That I was _dead_?” Her brows sagged, eyes full of hurt.

Itchy cocked his head. “Mr. Sarfeesha…?” he queried.

“That old bastard lied to you, Itchy!” The woman told him. She placed her hands over her heart as she explained, “I wasn’t dead, I was in the clink! I was in there for a long, long time. I thought I’d never see you again. But I saw you a while back, remember? I knew it was you! Your Ba-Ba would know those pretty eyes anywhere! You even smell the same, you little stinker!” Her own eyes began overflowing with tears. She pulled him into a tight hug and cried into his shoulder. “You have to believe me! It’s really me! I swear it is, little flea, I swear…!”

Itchy froze there in the corner of the brothel, staring at this strange woman in his arms. Despite her outrageous claims, there was something about her that seemed oddly familiar. He had felt it the last time he encountered her too. Something about her face, her smile, or perhaps her smell…he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Okay,” he began. “If you’re really my Ba-Ba, tell me something only she would know.”

The woman dried her tears on the back of her skinny arm and sniffled, “You were born in Taybiya, down in Southriver Wood. I shat you out right in the soil-trough at the Twenty-Fingers Tavern. Went in with a stomach ache and walked out with a son!” She laughed through her tears. “He was the only good man I ever had in my life, and I…I didn’t deserve him, not one bit. I was a terrible mother to you, Itchy. Just terrible!”

Her smile contorted into a frown, tears spilling over again. “You were probably better off, thinkin’ I was dead. Guess I can’t blame old Sarfeesha for that one. If I were a half-way decent person, I would’a done the same. But I tell you this from the bottom of my heart, I ain’t the same person I was! If I could go back in time, I’d slap that girl silly! That stupid floozy didn’t know what she had, and she pissed it all away!”

Clasping one of Itchy’s hands in her own, she continued, “I’m so sorry, Itchy. I acted like a fuckin’ monster. Just took a few decades in time-out for me to see it. I won’t hurt you again, never! Not ever, I promise you that! Please say you believe me! I can’t undo what I done, but I can try to do better if you let me! Just give me another chance? Please, say you will?”

Itchy’s jaw fell slack, bottom lip twitching. Emotions were bubbling up within him, emotions he didn’t realize he had until now. He turned her story over and over in his head, trying to find cracks. But it all added up, every last word, into a puzzle that he’d been trying to solve his entire life.

The satyr’s knees knocked, then gave way. He hit the floor and hugged his mother around her waist, sobbing into her belly. All he could manage through his tears was a pathetic, “Ba-Ba…!”

The woman dropped to the floor with him and held him tight, crying joyfully, “Yes, it’s me! It’s Ba-Ba! I’m here, my baby, I’m here!”

After a moment, Itchy ripped the flower out of his hair and blubbered, “Ba-Ba, I don’t want you to s-see me like this! I’m on real hard times, b-but this ain’t me, I swear it ain’t!”

“It ain’t me either, baby,” his mother sniffled. “I’m the one who tossed you into this life, so don’t you ever apologize to me! It’s hard for us, I know it is. But you don’t have to worry anymore, okay? Ba-Ba’s gonna do it all right this time. I’m gonna work real hard to give you everything you deserve.”

*

Lukas was sore, there was no denying that. But after a month stuck in bed, he was just glad to get outside and moving again. Finally his infection had subsided and he was ready to get to work, so Evan gave him the simplest contract he could find to ease him back into things.

The client was unhappy with their daughter’s boyfriend. All Lukas had to do was show up at the client’s house and intimidate a teenage boy. He shouted some empty threats and swung his sword around, then walked away with enough coins to buy another night in this dingy inn.

Even that simple job had taken a lot out of him. It was going to take some time before his muscles were back in shape. Lukas changed into his pajamas and flopped down on the cot. The metal frame creaked in protest. It creaked again when he reached for the book on the end table. At last, the day was done and he could relax.

Lukas read his book by the light of a single candle. He had just gotten cozy, beginning to nod off when someone pounded on his door. He jumped, suddenly alert, and traded his book for a dagger sheathed under his pillow. He hid the blade behind his back as he crept towards the door. Pressing his shoulder against the wall, he called, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me…Just me…” groaned Evan. His response was slow and slurred. Lukas hesitated, then set the dagger aside and opened the door. He recoiled a bit at the sight—and smell—of his friend. Evan leaned his elbow on the doorframe, eyes weary and bloodshot. His cheeks and nose were tinted pink, the collar of his shirt was damp with sweat, and Lukas understood why when he noticed the near-empty bottle of bourbon in his hand.

“You’re drunk,” Lukas said flatly.

Evan swayed a little and mumbled, “Yeah…”

Lukas sighed, “Alright, what’s wrong?”

He stepped back as Evan stumbled through the doorway, tipping back the last of the bourbon. He nearly fell over when he shut the door behind him. “Just so you know, I’m not proud of myself for this,” he said, then he dropped the bottle and pulled Lukas into a sloppy kiss.

The commander reeled back until they both hit the wall. The taste of alcohol was strong on Evan’s tongue. Lukas stood rigid and allowed it to happen as his brain and his heart waged war with one another. Evan seemed perfectly fine this morning when he was handing out contracts, confident and jovial as always. How he managed to spiral down so hard, so fast, was beyond Lukas, but he had a feeling the spiral was bigger than it seemed. It probably began weeks ago.

“I love you, Lukas…” Evan slurred between wet kisses. “Please come back to me, love…Please…I love you…Please…”

Lukas felt like he was being licked by a big, dumb mongrel. Then again, that was the nature of Evan’s big, dumb love. It was clumsy and sloppy even in his soberest of times, and it left Lukas overwhelmed by nostalgia. He hated Woodborne. He hated the state of his life since the Hollow was destroyed. He missed those simpler days with Evan more than anything. If he could turn back the clock and change the trajectory of that one cursed arrow, he would not hesitate.

But the arrow misfired, Itanya was dead, and Lukas was still paralyzed by his crippling fear of love. His heart was clawing at the walls of its prison, and it ached so badly that he couldn’t bear it for one more second. He was going to need some help.

“Damn it, Evan,” he panted. “You pathetic son of a bitch…hold on a second…”

He shoved the captain away and swiped a bottle of liquor off the bookshelf. He’d been using it to clean his wounds these last few weeks. Now he was guzzling it down to poison his troublesome brain, then perhaps his heart could escape its tyranny.

Lukas drank as much as he could stomach. He then slammed the bottle back on the shelf and jumped into Evan’s arms, wrapping his legs around his waist. Evan was much too drunk for such a maneuver. He stumbled back and fell onto the cot. The rickety frame immediately fell apart on impact and the mattress hit the floor. Neither of them even acknowledged it as they locked themselves into another passionate kiss.

“Take this off, it’s disgusting,” said Lukas, tugging at Evan’s shirt. Evan quickly removed the sweaty garment and tossed it aside. Lukas began undoing the buttons on his pajama top, but it wasn’t necessary after Evan seized his collar and simply tore it open. Buttons popped off and clattered on the floorboards. Lukas was silenced by another kiss before he could scold him. Once he felt Evan’s hands slide below his waistband, he realized how little he cared anyway.

Evan fondled him through his cotton pants, wearing a big, gap-toothed grin on his face. “I knew you missed me,” he said.

“Shut up,” sighed Lukas. He pushed the lycanthrope’s hands away and flipped around to face his feet. Evan couldn’t see around his back, but he heard his belt buckle being undone and saw the archer hunch over like a bridge.

He couldn’t see a thing after his eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a wanton moan that embarrassed them both. Lukas’ was sitting on his chest, and Evan refused to let such a position go to waste. He tugged Lukas’ pajama pants down and buried his face in his backside. Lukas jumped in surprise. He withdrew from Evan’s arousal just to scold him. “You’re a god damn animal,” he said. He heard nothing but a muffled chuckle in response.

The liquor was working its magic, and quickly. Lukas felt his brain slowing down. His fear ebbed and flowed and gradually slipped away like the tide. Just a moment ago, his mind was racing through the hypothetical aftermath of this disaster. What would he say when he sobered up? What would he do tomorrow? Was he truly ready to love again, or would he continue to push Evan away after this impulsive, foolish night?

All those worries were drowning in the alcohol. For the first time in ages, Lukas’ thoughts were mercifully quiet, his heart was soaring, and there wasn’t a single ache in his body. He reveled in the pleasure flowing through his mind, body, and soul…But of course, it could not last forever.

Footsteps thumped down the hall, approaching fast. The door suddenly flew open. “Lukas! Lukas! You’ll never believe what—“ Isaac began, then froze in the doorway. The sight before him was not at all what he expected, or wanted to see, or should have seen. It seemed in his drunken haze, Evan forgot to lock the door behind him.

It was like a trainwreck, and Isaac could not look away until Lukas thrusted his finger at him and snarled through his teeth, “Isaac! Out! _Now_!”

The young mercenary slapped a hand over his mouth and vanished in an instant, slamming the door behind him. Their night thoroughly ruined, Evan and Lukas scrambled to put their clothes back on. They heard Isaac having some kind of nervous breakdown behind the door, yelling, “Aaaah! Whaaat! Oh my god! Whaaat!”

Lukas tried to button his shirt, realized the buttons were missing and simply folded the sides over eachother. He wrenched the door open and found Isaac sitting against the wall in the hallway. His knees were drawn to his chest, hands pressed to his head as he rocked back and forth.

Lukas began, “Listen—”

But the young man barely acknowledged him, gasping, “Oh my god! Oh my god! Aaaah!”

“Isaac, stop yelling!”

“Aaaah! I can’t! Aaaah!” Isaac yelled.

Evan peeked through the doorway, watching as Lukas kneeled beside Isaac. He knew he was too drunk to say anything of value, so he kept his mouth shut and let Lukas speak instead. The archer slapped Isaac across the face, stunning him into silence before he said, “Listen! What you saw in there, it was…well, you didn’t see anything. Got it?”

Isaac replied breathlessly, “Oh, yes I did! I wish I didn’t, but I did! W-what are you…? You and Evan were…? R-really…?” he stammered, unable to form a coherent thought, much less a sentence.

Lukas shushed him, aggressively shaking a finger at his lips. “Shh! Announce it to the whole inn, why don’t you?” he hissed. “First of all, we’ve both been drinking. A lot. Second, this is absolutely none of your business. Third, _why the fuck didn’t you knock, boy_? You know better!” He slapped Isaac again, this time on the head.

“I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry!” Isaac wheezed, shielding his head with his arms. “I just—I wanted to tell you something! You’re not even gonna believe it, it’s something really incredible!”

“It better be!” snapped Lukas. “Well, spit it out. What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, Isaac explained, “Okay. So, I went to deliver that cargo to the capital city, right? Long story short, I botched the contract. But I also found a whole stash of armor in a cave. It’s all ours, no strings attached.” He hesitated. “Uh, the pieces are a little bloody and nasty. But we can scrub ‘em out, no problem. They’re with Shadow right now. Anyway, I just wanted you guys to have the first pick before the rest of the crew goes through it.”

Lukas and Evan looked at one another, brows raised high. Evan turned back to Isaac and queried, “They’re bloody and nasty, huh? Isaac, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” insisted Isaac. His crewmen stared at him with doubt all over their faces, so he huffed, “Ugh! Fine. I yanked them off some dead soldiers.”

“Please tell me you didn’t kill them…” groaned Lukas.

Isaac shook his head and told them, “No way! They were dead when I found them, I swear. There was a big dragon in that cave, it was going to eat them anyway. Guys, I promise, there’s nothing sketchy about it! All this gear is really ours! I got a few weapons and tools out of it too. What are the chances? This is exactly what we needed! It’s like a miracle!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Lukas, rising to his feet. “Just, uh…let me get some real clothes on. Wait here, we’ll be out in a minute.”

Isaac remained in the hall while Evan and Lukas returned to the inn room, closing the door behind them. As Lukas dug through his rucksack for a clean pair of trousers, Evan anxiously paced about and groaned, “Why didn’t he knock? Why, oh Gaia _why_ didn’t he knock? Of all the times…!”

“I knew this was a mistake,” muttered Lukas. “See what you did? Now imagine if we were lovers again! It’s not just us anymore; we have a dozen others on the crew now. They’d be barging in on us constantly! We’d never get a moment of peace!”

Evan rubbed his hands over his head, letting out a long, meandering sigh. “That poor kid. Gods, he’ll never look me in the eye again…” he said.

Stepping into his trousers, Lukas replied, “We really ought to sit down and have a talk with him. You know, make sure he’s not scarred for life. Since this is pretty much _your_ fault, I’ll let you do the honors.” He paused, then added, “Don’t do it tonight. After you sober up, I mean. What did you get trashed for anyway? Don’t you have a contract tomorrow?”

“I do,” Evan admitted sheepishly. “I just…wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t have the courage. Got carried away with the bottle. Again. I’m sorry.”

“Huh, some _talk_ that was,” grumbled Lukas, sweeping a hand towards the destroyed cot. “I’m not paying for that, by the way.”

“Right, right…” Evan sighed. Lukas pulled on a jacket and the two stepped outside to meet Isaac.

Isaac led them to an alley outside the inn. It was after dark and the whole city was blanketed by snow, while stars twinkled above in the clear, black sky. The moon wasn’t quite full, but it lit the city enough for the mercenaries to navigate their way up a winding fire escape. The stairs ended at the flat rooftop, where Shadow was quietly perched with bulging saddlebags strapped to her chest.

Evan and Lukas looked on in awe as Isaac pulled out the armor piece by piece. The pieces just kept coming, and when they thought they’d seen the last of it, Isaac opened another bag and showed them even more. There was enough to suit the whole crew and then some. Not only that, but it was all military-quality and in great condition…if a little bloody and nasty. It was nothing a little elbow grease couldn’t sort out, they thought.

Evan let out a low whistle. “Wow! That’s quite a haul, son!” he praised. Isaac flashed a proud smile back at him.

Lukas nudged Evan’s arm and said, “I’m sorry I doubted you, Captain. You were right all along. I think we’ll be back home in no time.”

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you liked the story, kudos and feedback are very much appreciated. And if you noticed any mistakes, please don’t be afraid to let me know in the comments!
> 
> It looks like the refugees are slowly dusting themselves off after Disgrace’s little tantrum in the Hollow. Everyone’s got something crazy going on, but I think they’re on the right track. Will they really be able to return home? And if so, what will they even find there?
> 
> Additional note: This hopefully goes without saying, but Isaac’s reaction at the end there wasn’t meant to be some big anti-gay joke or anything. He only freaked out so hard because he wasn’t expecting it, and Evan and Lukas are like fathers to him. No one ever wants to walk in on their parents, especially their *divorced* parents...He has clearly suffered more than anyone else in this story lmao. Anyway I hope it didn’t rub anyone the wrong way because that definitely wasn’t the intention, though I did realized after I wrote it that it could be interpreted that way.
> 
> On that note…yes, some characters were being slut-shamed in this story, and no, I don’t condone that at all. My characters’ views are not my own, and just because they call themselves “Good Guys” doesn’t necessarily mean they’re on point all the time. None of these characters are perfect people, they will do and say problematic things sometimes. This is another thing that should go without saying, but y’know. I’d like to cover my ass just in case.
> 
> Anyway, be sure to subscribe to the series if you'd like to see more! New stories come out roughly once a month.


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